A Tide of Shadows

by Tom Bielawski

Thinking it a fair price he seated himself next to his still laughing friend while the merchant took the silver coin he had not seriously expected to earn and shoved it into a pocket.

  Zach finally managed to control himself and said, “So, was it worth a silver? Or the two coppers he charges everyone else?!”

  Zach burst out into laughter once again and Carym was glad his old friend could have a good laugh at his expense. He was pleasantly surprised by the rich flavor of the drink, whatever it was, and was impressed at how cold it was. Then, he remembered, the oceans were mighty cold this time of year and more than likely the man had devised a way to keep the drinks submerged in the ocean water below his shop.

  The pair sat easily, forgetting for the moment that they were wanted men and that in all likelihood, more of the Bishop’s Qra’zim would be coming to hunt them down. There could easily be members of that elite group walking among the riffraff of Dockyard City right now, Carym thought. A twinge of hunger caused Carym to glance at the foodstuffs offered for sale at the next shop - and he promptly lost his appetite.

  A skinny, olive skinned man wearing a flowing shirt that draped to his knees with a sleeveless vest with a round cap on his head manned the shop next door. A fly buzzed the man’s head continually, even landed on the tip of his nose or crawled around his dirty chest-length beard, he didn’t even try to swat the bug. Karbanders were ever a cheerful lot, noted Carym as this man’s face was locked in a continual grin. The men stopped in front of his shop to glance at exotic food sold by: “Shafi, Shafi, your good friend Shafi!”

  Shafi had several large barrels with mesh covered tops and three trays of seafood. The seafood was innocuous enough, the shelves bearing various kinds of fishes, eels, crabs, and squid, although the smell was quite pungent. When he looked into the first barrel he thought he would empty his stomach, for inside the barrel was a writhing mass of large smelly maggots. “Shafi have fresh mousa, just for you! Good price just for you, sir!”

  Carym quickly looked away, but his curiosity held him fast and he found himself looking into the top of the next barrel. “Ahh, Shafi’s favorite! Yesterday’s scoraggin fresh with young! Very good in deep oil cooker, sir. Good price, just for you!” he bobbed his head up and down and mimicked a deferential bowing motion.

  “No thank you, Shafi,” Carym said, sincerely. To Carym’s chagrin, the man seemed more enthusiastic instead of less and held him by the elbow, steering him towards the last barrel.

  “Come, come. Shafi have just for you!” Very quickly the man flipped open the lid and shot his hand down into the barrel, while Carym entertained the idea of running away. He did not want to offend the man, however; remembering that even a simpleton could become a dangerous enemy in the blink of an eye in Dockyard City. He was beginning to realize why most people never made eye contact in this God-forsaken place; making eye contact could get you the unwanted attention of Shafi.

  Quick as lightning Shafi reached into the barrel and withdrew his arm holding aloft a large egg. Inside the barrel the sound of snapping jaws and a thrashing tail revealed the presence of the unhappy creature that just lost its progeny.

  “No thank you, Shafi!” Carym said as he turned to leave. Shafi would not let him leave however.

  “Ok, ok! A sample, just for you. Free to try!!” Shafi held out the egg and Carym was really quite unsure what he was supposed to do with it as he had nothing to cook with at the moment. Seeing Carym’s dubious expression Shafi appeared then to have an epiphany, realizing Carym didn’t understand. “Ahh, Shafi show you Karbander Delight!”

  Shafi took a small curved knife from his belt and sliced the top third of the egg open, and peeled back the soft and pliable eggshell, quite unlike a bird’s egg. Then he gently squeezed it from the bottom as a wiggling reptilian form covered in yellow and white goo wiggled from the hole. Then, he poured the still moving contents of the egg into his mouth and chewed vigorously, fluids dripping down into his beard, and a huge grin on his face.

  “Karbander...delight!” he said while he chewed. Zach grabbed the flabbergasted Carym and ushered him away, hoping to leave Karbander Bazaar far behind.

  “Did you see…?”

  “Yes, come on before you attract attention.”

  When they left the bazaar district, the pair found themselves at the area of the city known as Portside. It was here where deckhands went about their business, running errands, picking up supplies, and merchant guards watched precious cargo warily. Carym felt menacing stares coming from men who clearly hailed from all over Llars, as evidenced by their bizarre clothing styles. Prostitutes walked about seeking new customers, always eager to see a drunken sailor in port. Carym felt pity for one woman, wearing little more than a towel, her eyes without life and more than one bruise visible on her face. But perhaps the most disturbing for Carym was that there were significant numbers of the Orkine races, hurkin and oroks, roaming about.

  “Act normal and ignore everything. Got it?” instructed Zach.

  Carym had not been to this seedy town before and it showed. He looked about in awe of his surroundings. The smell of nearby fishmongers assaulted their noses, while the sounds of cackling seagulls and the groaning of wooden planks consumed the attention of their ears. The planks of the dock streets had become a dirty white color from the volume of dried seagull droppings over time.

  “Yeah, I got it. Who are we meeting out here anyway?” he replied.

  “Yag, the privateer. He’s a mercenary with his own ship and a very able crew.”

  “A pirate for hire.”

  “Something like that,” agreed Zach walking confidently, looking dangerous. The wooden dock the men were now walking upon served as the main street in the Portside area of this lawless town.

  “Look over there, Zach,” Carym nodded toward a man standing at the intersection of two dock-streets. A preacher, apparently, he was holding an open book in one hand while reading from its pages and gesturing emphatically with his free hand. A few people had gathered around this darkly dressed fellow and they appeared enthralled by him. A jet-black raven perched on his shoulder and it fixed its beady eyes on Carym.

  What a peculiar looking fellow, Carym thought. He was dressed in a robe that appeared to shift between varying shades of brown as he watched. He was also wearing a beautiful glowing amulet of shiny gold. He was of average height and bald, with a goatee, and a menacing stare that was amplified by his burning red eyes. The man carried a wooden staff with the likeness of a ram’s head atop, its large horns curled forward.

  Mesmerized by the man’s smooth voice, Carym noticed that he spoke a form of Cklathish, but strangely he could not understand what the man was saying. Carym shook his head and rubbed his eyes as though he had just awakened from a strange dream. Then he noticed that Zach appeared as enthralled as the people gathered about the mysterious man.

  “What an interesting fellow. It looks like he is preaching, let’s go talk to him,” said Zach as he started to wander towards the man in apparent awe; as he had warned Carym against doing. Before Zach took three steps, a rough looking giant of a man about seven feet tall and dressed in warrior’s garb, stepped in front of the men and blocked their view of the brown robed preacher.

  “What are ya lads doing out here?” the man’s putrid breath spilling out from rotted yellow and black teeth made Carym’s stomach turn sour.

  “Our business is our own,” replied Zach testily. Now that he could no longer see the preacher, he appeared himself again; he and Carym turned to leave the area.

  “Not sa fast,” the man growled. “Ah’ll wager yar running from something. Hyrum folk dan’t often wander to the Dockyards.” The air was eerily still, save for the constant squawking of seagulls. “Ahh, Ah remember, ah seen yar postars! Ya two are wanted men, and ah want the reward!” he laughed loudly at them. “Reach for those swards and ah’ll cut yar arms off!” The huge man waved a large sword menacingly at the two.

  Carym knew this man for what he was, a giant orok. Wh
ile oroks were small and stupid, giant oroks were large and cunning; but still stupid. He had a pair of yellow fangs resembling tusks protruding slightly from his lips, his eyes were yellow, his ears were cupped and his nose was slightly upturned and flat; not unlike a pig’s nose. He was tall, his arms were long and spindly. But Carym knew that giant oroks were fast and strong despite their ungainly and awkward appearance.

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Carym.

  Leveling his sword at Zach the creature said, “I saa the signs, General Craxis wants yar heads! And ah would be delighted ta give them ta him! Unless of course, ya give me one tousand emerald coins, den ah might pretend ah never saw ya!” the beastly looking man chortled eerily.

  “Not likely,” Carym said very calmly, feeling his anger begin to rise. The bullish greater orok reminded Carym of the viciousness of the Vaard and suddenly he wanted very much to smash the creature’s teeth in.

  “Don’t get righteous Carym! Give the nice orok some money so we can go,” said Zach as he reached for his blade. For some reason Carym just couldn’t abide this thing threatening him and his friend.

  “I will not!” replied Carym defiantly.

  “Ya will, or ah will take it from ya right alang with yar tongue! Den ah will deliver yar tongueless heads ta the General!” the giant orok snorted menacingly at the pair; Zach shuffled back a step. The trio began to attract attention and Zach worried that there may be other would-be bounty hunters nearby. Carym felt compelled to draw his sword. The orok was a bit surprised by this show of defiance, yet moved in regardless. Suddenly and quick as a cat, Carym slapped the surprised creature’s sword away with one stroke of his sword. Then, he angrily slammed his other fist into the beast’s chest sending a shower of crackling sparks into the air. The orok shrieked in pain then fell to the ground and lay still, a sizzling hole in his chest.

  “Way to go, Carym!” said Zach as he slapped his friend on the shoulder. “That ought to deter any of these other slugs from trying to get in on the reward hunting!” Zach waved his blade menacingly and snarled at the nearby crowd of onlookers. The body of the orok was dead for mere moments before the street urchins appeared at the periphery of the crowd, eager to begin plundering the body, yet cautious around anyone who could best a giant orok so easily.

  Carym sheathed his sword and looked at the corpse; he felt powerful. The familiar feelings of fear and trepidation that plagued him since the death of his wife and child were gone. It was a good feeling. He knew he should not take pleasure in killing anyone or anything, yet for some reason he felt elated.

  People everywhere were staring at them; some were staring fearfully, some respectfully. All were silent as if waiting for something to happen. Carym turned to catch up with Zach, who was walking very quickly away, the old wooden dock creaking beneath their feet as they hurried off toward the pier. Looking back he could no longer see the body of the orok for the street stalkers had swarmed over it. He also saw that the brown-robed preacher was no longer speaking; in fact, he was following them! Effortlessly, the priest covered the ground between them. They took a turn down a side street that would lead them to the privateer’s waiting transport boat.

  The strange man’s pursuit was dogged and, for a while, the beady-eyed man seemed content to merely follow them. After a quarter of an hour of cutting through crowded bazaars, sudden alley turns, and double-backs, Carym had had enough. It was evident that their pursuer was not to be lost in the maze of dock ways, and it was unlikely that they would reach the safety of the privateer’s boat before a confrontation ensued. Carym stopped suddenly and turned. “We must face this man here, Zach. He is alone.”

  “Are you mad, Carym?” uttered Zach, looking anxiously toward the dock way leading away from this man. When he realized his friend would not be budged, Zach heaved a great sigh of annoyance and drew his sword as the dark man reached them. He faced them silently, his malevolent gaze promising wickedness. The mouth of his ram’s head staff appeared to be flicking its tongue at them and sparks crackled from its mouth.

  “What do you want with us?” asked Carym defiantly as he squared himself before the strange man.

  “You should come with me, Carym of Hyrum,” the man whispered evilly. “You are powerful! With my help, you will learn to master your powers!” the man said, holding his hand palm up. The man’s skin seemed to subtly change colors in the cool morning sun, not unlike the brown robes he wore.

  What on Llars is he talking about? Carym wondered. And why does his skin change colors? He watched as a sphere of blackness formed in the air above the stranger’s hand, swirling, dancing, trying to hypnotize him. Carym saw himself in that sphere, wielding powerful weapons, leading troops to glory and wealth, and commanding powerful magic! The temptation was strong and Carym almost found himself nodding, but Zach’s words of warning about Dockyard City drifted back into his mind, breaking the spell. He shook his head angrily, the sudden movement startling him from the hypnosis.

  “Who are you?” he asked angrily. The dark man’s eyes narrowed, contemplating the value of trying to convince the man further. He had his orders, though. And orders from those who commanded him were never to be taken lightly.

  “I am Skull Commander Ebonaar, of His Dark Majesty’s elite and powerful Skull Knights. Umber rewards his faithful beyond what you could ever hope to achieve on your own! Power and wealth beyond reckoning will be yours!” he hissed.

  “I seek neither power nor wealth, man. Begone with you!” Carym said, confidently, leveling his sword before him.

  “Oh, but His Dark Majesty has plans for you!” the evil man laughed at Carym, his voice like the cracking of thunder. The dark robed man raised his staff and pointed a gnarled finger at Carym. A fiery blue skull erupted from his finger, shrieking hideously as it blazed through the air towards Carym. The sound emanating from the skull’s gaping maw pained Zach so much so that he fell to the ground in agony.

  Carym swung his sword at the skull, causing it to explode in a shower of sparks. After the hideous shrieking ceased, Zach’s senses began to return to normal. He was amazed to find Carym still standing. Carym swung his sword viciously at his foe. Ebonaar raised his staff to parry the blow and lost his hand for it. As the severed hand fell to the wooden dock, planks rotted away and the hand plummeted to the water below. A retched cloud of stench began to rise from the bubbling water where the hand had fallen. Ebonaar looked at the stump of his arm with a terrified expression. Angrily, the man snatched up his staff with his good hand and waved it at Carym, shouting words unknown to him. Bolts of white fire flew from the orifice of the ram’s mouth at Carym. Instinctively, he held his sword before him and the blade seemingly absorbed the magical fire! With a shriek, the evil man disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  “What the in the Seven Hells was that?” asked Zach, his voice hoarse. He was unsteady on his feet and a bit disoriented.

  “I don’t know!” Carym replied in wonder, staring at his sword.

  “Is that sword magical?” asked Zach, eying Carym’s sword with interest.

  “I’ve never known it to be magical before.” Carym examined the blade of his sword in wonder. “Are you ok, Zach?”

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “Come on, people are staring. Two fights in the short time we’ve been here is enough to attract unwanted attention even in Dockyard City.”

  The two moved away as quickly as they could, making their way down the creaking, swaying dock to find a ride. Carym wondered about the nature of that hellish magic.

  Slowly things began to return to normal as they left the bizarre scene behind them. The pair branched off the main dock way and turned down another leading to the Port District, where dinghys and ferry boats docked, waiting to take their charges out to the deeper waters where the larger ships lay at anchor. They stopped at a tall gate with a large sign overhead. The message was written in several languages including Cklathish, Arnathian and the language known as Eastern Kings. It said, “PIER 25” and was manned by
a skinny fellow with a weasily face and a pointy beard. He was flanked by two very big, and very well-armed, men who sat lazily on stools. The trained eyes of the Cklathmen were not fooled however, these men were professional fighters and likely able to respond to any threat in the blink of an eye.

  “Is this the pier were the captain of Marineer calls port?” Zach asked the weasily fellow. The man was inspecting a ledger and glanced up at him with an expression of mild annoyance. He flicked away some flies and set his pen down, then peered at the two men.

  “The Marineer left port unexpectedly this morning,” said the main peevishly. “Without proper payment of tariffs. I assume they will return promptly, else they forfeit any cargo left behind in Dockyard City and lose docking privileges here. Are you part of her crew?” As the man finished his question, one of the sleeping guards flicked open a very alert eye and watched the two men, as though waiting for a sign from the piermaster.

  “We are just passengers,” Zach said hastily, noting the guard had closed his eyes again in disinterest. “We have contracted passage and were supposed to meet the captain here today.”

  The piermaster appeared satisfied by the answer and went back to writing in his ledger as the two stood expectantly. Finally the man looked up from his ledger, swatted another fly and peevishly said, “What?”

  The guard’s eyes flicked open again, wondering if the visitors were going to irritate the piermaster enough to warrant a fight.

  “Nothing. Sorry to bother you, sir,” Zach said hastily, drawing Carym away. The man went back to his ledger and the guard appeared to have gone back to sleep.

  “Now what?”

  “We wait for the Marineer to return. Something very important must have driven Yag to leave without paying the tariffs, he wouldn’t needlessly jeopardize his place in such a profitable port. He will return,” Zach said confidently.

  Zach lead Carym back to the main dock way and they continued on for several minutes walking toward the part of town known as “Inn Row.” This dock way ran the outer edge of the town with the ocean on their right and the shambling buildings, shops, and homes of Dockyard City on their left. Having never been to this place, Carym was amazed by the variety of merchants ranging from magic shops, arms and armor dealers, herb suppliers, mercenary offices, nautical suppliers, fortune tellers, temples to various gods and spirits, and several brothels with scantily clad women - and even a few men - soliciting business on the dock ways.